


Beat the Drum

by eledhwenlin



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eledhwenlin/pseuds/eledhwenlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Brendon drum turns Spencer on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beat the Drum

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to [](http://melusina.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**melusina**](http://melusina.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta! I wrote this story a few months ago, after Brendon said in an interview that the drums were his favourite instrument.
> 
> I ended the old year posting fic and I wanted to also starte the new year posting fic, so here you go. Happy new year, everyone!

Brendon has been restless all morning, so Spencer calls for an impromptu practise session. Playing music usually tires Brendon out.

It's hot in their practise room, the sun shining directly through the small window. Brendon switches from his guitar to the piano to the sync back to the guitar. He's talking a mile a minute and singing little pieces of songs and melodies. The heat seems to make him even more unfocused. There's already a sweat spot forming on his back and his hair is falling in strands.

"Fuck, why is it always so hot in here?" Brendon groans and there goes his shirt. Spencer was already wondering how long it would take Brendon to peel off his layers.

Spencer laughs at him. "Because you always forget to put the AC on."

Brendon puts out his tongue. "Because you never remind me."

Then he sighs. He stares at his many instruments, walking this way and that way, but never picking one up. Suddenly he stills. "Spencer?"

Spencer looks up and he sees Brendon standing right in front of his kit, looking at the bass drum with longing eyes. "What, Brendon?"

Brendon looks straight into Spencer's eyes with those big doe eyes. "I haven't played the drums in a really long time," he says. "Pretty please?" Spencer knows that's a total lie. Brendon has played them just last week, while they were trying to figure out a problem in the drum line. But Brendon can be quite convincing when he puts his mind to it and Spencer has a weak spot for spazzy lead singers anyway.

Spencer pretends to be put upon, sighs exaggeratedly when he gets up, but he has to grin when Brendon's entire face lights up with a mischievous grin. "You are the best," Brendon tells him. He gets a new pair of drum sticks out of Spencer's stock and sits down. He starts a fast-paced salsa rhythm, grinning maniacally.

Spencer laughs at him, amused by his enthusiasm and sheer happiness. Brendon is focused on the rhythm, lets motion memory take over and for the first time today he is losing some of that nervous energy. He is frowning slightly, concentrating on the snare, and he's--kind of really fucking hot. Brendon has this way of throwing himself wholeheartedly into what he's doing, and he's playing drums with his whole body. He shoots Spencer a grin and it goes straight into Spencer's groin and this is going to get embarrassing really fast.

The beat Brendon has going on reminds Spencer of dancing, bodies pressing close. It doesn't help with the way Spencer's body is reacting to Brendon's playing.

See, the thing is, Spencer has a thing for drummers. That is not new, it's pretty much common knowledge. There have been several drunken make-outs with other drummers on FBR that Spencer rather doesn't want to talk about. And Brendon's a really fucking competent drummer. Back when they did the drum line on tour, Spencer had to get through the rest of the concert with a boner. Only Ryan knew, though, and he wasn't very sympathetic. (The circus people knew, too, because those pants didn't really leave a lot to the imagination and there were a few conversations Spencer is still terminally embarrassed about.)

The consequence remains that Brendon plus drumming equals a very aroused Spencer. He thinks the heat might be getting to him, because it's really unbearably hot in the room despite the AC running now, the air feeling dry and stifling. Spencer's lips are raspy, and he thinks he needs to go and drink some water.

Brendon's switched to another rhythm, slightly slower, sensual even, and Spencer really has to get out of here. "I'll, uh," he says, "I'll be right back, okay?"

Brendon nods, lost in the steady beats. "Bring back some more water, please?"

"I will," Spencer mumbles and then he's racing upstairs. The air feels icy on his skin, chilled and cool, although Spencer rationally knows that it's just a few degrees difference. It is not actually freezing in their living room. He drinks some water, but his heart is still beating fast and every time he closes his eyes, he sees Brendon reaching up to play the hi-hat, keeping in perfect rhythm, and the thing is, rumour has it that drummers are good in bed because they can keep a rhythm, and Spencer can confirm that from his own experience, and fuck. That is so not helping.

The problem is, Spencer can't fuck Brendon. It was bound to be a train-wreck when they were teenagers, and now Brendon _is_ Spencer's band, and--Spencer's already lost too many people recently to even think about fucking up his relationship to Brendon, too.

Spencer walks by the downstairs bathroom, thinking that he has to get the fuck rid of his hard-on _right now_ , and stops cold. It is probably the worst idea he's had recently, but his dick is throbbing inside his pants and he can still feel the muffled rhythm of Brendon's drumming inside his bones and he can still see the joy on Brendon's face, the look of concentration and pure joy, and he's inside that bathroom before he knows it. He doesn't even lock it, just hurries to the toilet, and pulling out his cock is instant relief. He feels weird for a moment taking himself into his hand, tries for a second to think of something else, but he feels like he is surrounded by Brendon, and Brendon's is the first face that pops up in his mind. He remembers the thin sheen of sweat on Brendon's skin, the way his hair curled on his forehead, the way the sticks looked in his hands and--it takes Spencer like three strokes before he's coming. He'd be embarrassed, if he hadn't just had the best orgasm in months, his knees weak and his skin still tingly and each and every of his bones turned to molten wax. Spencer leans his forehead against the cool tiles and sighs.

There's a crash downstairs and Spencer jerks away from the wall, blinking his eyes open. His heart is beating rapidly, and suddenly he's over-aware of the smell of come in the room, the stale sweat on his skin, and god, he reeks. And Brendon's still down there, waiting for Spencer to come back, and he's surely already wondering where Spencer is, if he hasn't lost himself completely in the music yet, arms flying, eyes closed, and--no, Spencer tells himself, he's not going there again.

Spencer opens the window, airing the little room, and he washes his hands twice, hoping to wash away all incriminating evidence. He's halfway down the stairs when he remembers he was supposed to bring Brendon some water and he doubles back. The bottle feels ice-cold when he grabs it from their fridge, and he makes an absent note to warn Brendon not to drink too quickly.

Their practise room feels even hotter now, which doesn't make sense since the AC is running on full capacity. Brendon's skin is now entirely sweat-slick, glistening almost obscenely--Spencer has a flashback to some porn he once watched, one of the guys was completely oiled in and at the time Spencer was half-grossed out at the idea, but right now he's just aroused and wants to take Brendon and throw him against the wall, rubbing his body against him, rutting against him roughly and, no, bad Spencer, no cookie, god, why can't he stop thinking about this?

Spencer hopes the heat in the room will explain his flushed skin away (he's already half-hard again and it's the heat, he thinks, it's the heat fucking with his brain). He waits until Brendon looks at him to offer him the water. "Drink slowly," he warns, "it's pretty cold."

Brendon smiles at him, that golden, wide-mouthed one, and Spencer blames his knees being weak on the fact that he jerked off only a few minutes ago (to thoughts of that exact smile; Spencer thinks if there's a championship in repressing, he'd be in the lead). "Thanks, Spence," Brendon says. "For the water and this." He points at the drum kit. "I think I really needed it today."

Spencer tells himself that it's just a bad choice of words. But, god, if he were the type to make double entendre (and let's be honest, he totally is, fifteen years of friendship to one Ryan Ross who was always on the hunt for the most intricate expression), there's a million places he could take this. If this were anyone but Brendon, if Spencer hadn't been having these thoughts for so long, Spencer thinks he would make it a bad joke. But he doesn't, just smiles and nods, and he thinks his face feels weird, like the smile is too forced and it's just not right.

"Hey, hey," Brendon suddenly says. "You're totally pale, dude, it's the heat, isn't it? Here, drink some water." He presses the still half-full bottle into Spencer's hands. Spencer mutters a thanks (it is the heat, he tells himself, the heat making him feel all funny and weird), but then Brendon starts tugging on Spencer's shirt. "What? Bren?"

"You're too hot," Brendon tells him and Spencer is going crazy, he totally is. He wonders when he lost his mind in the gutter, because, god.

"I'm okay," Spencer says, but Brendon doesn't let up.

"You should take your shirt off," Brendon says, "you'll feel a lot better instantly." There's only so much willpower Spencer can draw up in face of Brendon earnestly telling him that he needs to be less clothed and more naked. He raises his arms, lets Brendon tug his shirt off.

Brendon's right, in so far that Spencer feels less hot, but he's also very conscious of his naked upper body now. Brendon's only wearing these shorts and Spencer should be used to them by now, to Brendon's naked skin, because it's not like it doesn't happen regularly. He's totally not, though, goes instantly hard again and tries to play over it by drinking some water.

But when he hands Brendon back the water, Brendon's eyes are dark, the pupils wide, and he looks at Spencer. There's a small drop of sweat on his temple and it should be gross, but it isn't, and Spencer can't look away.

"Spencer?" Brendon says. He seems to be standing much closer now.

"Hey" Spencer replies.

He doesn't know what to think. It's terribly difficult to form a thought. He doesn't want Brendon to look down, to see the bulge in Spencer's jeans, but he doesn't want him to look at his face, either, thinks he's too open, that Brendon can look at him and see what he's just done. Spencer thinks he can still smell come on his fingers, although he scrubbed them real good, but no soap can mask that smell.

Brendon is still holding Spencer's shirt, and his grip is tight, his fist white-knuckled, and his entire body is tense. Spencer doesn't know whether he wishes that Brendon wore more clothing, so Spencer couldn't see, or whether he wants to lay Brendon down, strip him naked and run his hands over his entire body. His mind feels muddled and he's sluggish, but also exhilarated, his entire body strumming with energy, like being poised to jump, preparing himself for a fight.

Brendon is close, so close, and he puts one hand on Spencer's shoulder. It feels hot on Spencer's skin, almost unbearably so. Spencer spares a moment to wonder what Brendon's doing, is he just checking whether Spencer's fine or what, when Brendon leans up, goes on his tiptoes and kisses Spencer. It's over in an instant, just a quick press of their skins, but it sets something loose in Spencer. He groans and his arms come up and wrap themselves around Brendon almost as if they had a will of their own. Brendon whimpers and presses closer. "Spence," he whispers again, but Spencer is incapable of speech right now.

Spencer pulls Brendon closer, their naked, sweaty chests rubbing against each other obscenely, but every brush of skin sends little jolts of electricity through Spencer's bones. He leans down and Brendon leans up and then they kiss again. It's intense and fast and rough and Spencer can't get enough of it. Brendon gives as good as he can take. The heat is momentarily forgotten, all of Spencer's senses concentrated on this, on Brendon.

But Spencer's knees are weak and they're careening slightly until Brendon pulls back a little and says in a hoarse voice, "there's a rug right here." He looks feverish, blobs of red high on his cheeks, and Spencer loves this guy.

"That's good," Spencer says back, and he hardly sounds like himself anymore, his voice a dark rasp. Brendon shivers in his arms, but he still looks at Spencer.

Spencer lets himself fall to his knees, tugs at Brendon to get down. It's easier this way. Spencer puts his hands on Brendon's waist, his finger tips on the first swell of Brendon's ass, and Brendon's slight intake of breath is all the permission he needs.

He can't tell whose groan is louder, his or Brendon's, when Spencer finally slips his hands inside Brendon's shorts and curves them around his ass. Brendon's not wearing any underwear, so Spencer only has skin under his hands. He slides his fingertips into the cleft and Brendon groans, pushing his body against Spencer. "Fuck," he says. "Spence, fuck."

"I want," Spencer manages. God, he wants to push inside Brendon, feel him all around his cock, his legs hitched high on Spencer's waist. Wants to rub himself against Brendon, fuck him until they're both sore. He wants so much.

Brendon whimpers and his hands go straight to Spencer's fly. He curses when he finally manages to pop the button open and finds Spencer's underwear. "No wonder you're so hot," he chides. "You're wearing way too many clothes."

"I am," Spencer replies earnestly, but they can just put enough distance between them to push Spencer's jeans and his boxers down to his thighs, then Brendon is back pressed up close. Spencer pulls him closer, squeezes Brendon's ass, and Brendon rubs against him just right. "God," Spencer moans, "fuck."

"Thank you," Brendon mutters against Spencer's skin, "but you can still call me Mr Urie." Spencer shuts him up with a kiss.

Spencer wants to touch Brendon all over, but he doesn't want to move his hands away from Brendon's ass. The muscles are firm in Spencer's hand, firm and round, and it feels way too good to be touching them to let go. He groans into Brendon's ear, and Brendon chuckles quietly. "I see I have to do all the hard work by myself," and Spencer is going to hate him for all those bad puns, right after he's done fucking him through the floor.

Brendon wraps one hand around both their cocks and Spencer lets out a little cry. "Brendon, fuck." There's no way he's going to last long enough to actually fuck Brendon. Spencer realises this in a faraway corner of his brain and feels partially sad about it, because _that ass_ , but he is still having actually sex with Brendon. Spencer thinks his brain is lagging behind a few moments and he's all caught up in the give and take of sex, so there's no time to think.

"Brendon," Spencer whines, as Brendon starts moving his hand jerkily around their cocks. The friction feels good, but it's not enough, and it's rougher than Spencer likes it usually, but he can't move beyond the fact that he's having sex with _Brendon_ , and at this point any orgasm will be a good orgasm.

Brendon laughs at him, a deep throaty sound, his mouth pressed against the thick vein in Spencer's throat. The sound vibrates through Spencer's entire being, and Spencer idly thinks that he could come from this. He thinks if Brendon told him right now to come, he would.

Spencer ducks his head, brushes his lips over Brendon's ear, bites his earlobe gently and just says, "Brendon." They kiss again, messy and fast and recklessly. Spencer moans and his hands on Brendon's ass grip him hard, pulling him hard against Spencer. It throws off Brendon's rhythm, but he groans into Spencer's mouth.

Brendon breaks off the kiss, panting heavily. "Spence," he says. "Spence, I'm gonna, I think."

Spencer thinks, _yes, please_ , but he wants, no, needs to be even closer. They are already pressed skin to skin, and there's no closer to be had, but Spencer wants to feel Brendon. He doesn't want to move, though, his hands still tuck inside Brendon's shorts. He can talk, though.

"Yeah," Spencer says in a low voice, right into Brendon's ear. "I want you to, I want to see. C'mon, B."

Brendon chuckles, out of breath, and he presses his forehead against Spencer's temple, holding them close together. His hand speeds up again, but now Brendon's leaking a lot and the glide becomes easier. "Spencer," he whispers. "Spence."

Spencer's head is swimming and he doesn't know what he's asking for when he says, "please". But Brendon chokes off this moan, a long drawn-out sound, and then he's coming, hot against Spencer's skin. It's what takes Spencer over the edge, too, that feeling of come hitting his skin, knowing that it's Brendon's, and Spencer comes with a loud keening noise, rutting helplessly against Brendon. The world sinks away during that short blissful moment and Spencer lets himself sag against Brendon.

When Spencer blinks his eyes open again, he's lying on his side. He thinks he might have fallen asleep, and he'd be sad for being such a fucking cliché, but, god. He thinks his bones have melted away and his mind is still sluggish with heat and the aftermath. Spencer feels really fucking hot, and there's sweat rolling down his back, and he's seriously gross now, what with the sweat and the come drying on his skin.

His eyes take a moment to focus and the first thing he sees is Brendon's laughing face. "Hey, there, sleeping beauty," he says. Spencer idly notes that his voice is raspy and gravelly and that he, Spencer, did that. It's kind of really fucking awesome.

"Hm," Spencer says and his eyes fall closed again, like keeping them open is a waste of energy. He can feel Brendon's laughter on his skin, the little puffy exhales. "I'm gonna end up being, what, overly impressed with myself," Brendon says. "Since we didn't even get around to, like, actual sex here."

"It's the heat," Spencer mumbles, but Brendon just keeps laughing. "Yeah. The heat melted your hands to my ass."

Spencer is about to reply testily that he is not touching Brendon's ass, when he realises that his hands are, in fact, still inside Brendon's shorts. Holding on to Brendon quite tightly. "Uhm," Spencer says and he will end up with a nose-bleed as fast as he is blushing. Brendon touches his forehead to Spencer's. "It's okay. I get that it's one of my best features."

Spencer wants to argue, because so many people say that, but there is so much more to Brendon, but the noise he makes is not a real word, at least not in any human languages. And his limbs are heavy and his eyes won't stay open and...

The next time Spencer wakes up, he has a crick in his neck and his body hurts from sleeping on his side on a thin rug on the ground for who knows how long, and he's uncomfortably warm and he is sticky. This time he realises entirely on his own that he's still groping Brendon. His breathing quickens, and Spencer has to force himself to take deep breaths. Now that the urgency is gone, he starts freaking out.

Spencer thinks Brendon's still asleep (Brendon's never even quite still when he's asleep--he's always twitching and mumbling a little in his sleep, curling himself around anything that will hold still long enough), so he tries to gently extricate his hands. He can't stop himself from giving Brendon's ass one last farewell squeeze, because it feels really good in his hands (Spencer thinks he could hold Brendon up; he's sad that he'll likely never get to live out that fantasy because it's a fucking bad idea to fuck someone in your band, especially if your band currently only consists of two people). Fuck, he shouldn't have let himself go like that, he's being ignoring his attraction to Brendon for years now. Why couldn't he have held himself together better?). That's when Brendon starts laughing at him.

Spencer's heart stops. "You're awake," he croaks, his brain racing with what he should say. Should he apologise? For the groping? For everything? Offer to join a monastery?

"I am," Brendon says, "and you are freaking out."

"Totally," Spencer admits.

"Hm," Brendon replies. He is still pressed closed against Spencer, arms wrapped around his waist. "Don't," Brendon tells him. Spencer sighs. He wishes that, for one moment only, he could have Brendon's reassuring belief that everything will always end well.

"If you are freaking out, we can't have sex in the shower," Brendon says and it's almost like he doesn't speak English. Perhaps Spencer's brain is broken. By the heat and Brendon and sex with Brendon.

"You're not making sense," Spencer says and he's frowning.

Brendon leans forward and kisses him, just a quick peck, innocent almost. "I'm making way more sense than you," he says.

It's so easy to lean into Brendon and just kiss. "What are we doing?" Spencer whispers against Brendon's temple.

"Let's figure it out later," Brendon says. He moves away, hissing in unison with Spencer as their skin separates, and sits up. He looks down at Spencer with bright eyes and an emotion in his eyes Spencer can't quite read. "Shower?" Brendon asks.

Spencer thinks, _this is it_ , if he says no now, Brendon will drop it. Spencer emphatically does not want to say no. He wants to kiss Brendon and fuck him and hold him and list all the ways he's awesome. "Shower," Spencer says, his voice thin and wavering and breaking at the end, but Brendon's smile lights up his entire face and he tugs Spencer to his feet. He right away starts towards the stairs, and Spencer feels stupid walking around in his own house with his dick out, but Brendon doesn't let him rest. He drags Spencer right into their bathroom and only lets up once he's locked the door. "So you can't bolt," he tells Spencer. Spencer doesn't know whether to be exasperated or delighted.

"You are mean," he tells Brendon, but his voice lacks the heat of the words, and he thinks Brendon wouldn't believe him anyway.

"Only to you," Brendon says, smiling, "someone has to fuck with you."

"I'd rather just fuck you," Spencer says, but instead of playful and teasing it comes out throaty and suggestive.

Brendon grins. "Like I'd mind." Then he drops his shorts and Spencer forgets about everything else. And then he gets to find out that he can, indeed, hold Brendon up against the wall. They make it to the shower much, much later.


End file.
